It’s Tuesday, and that means it’s time for another installment of Unrelated Spinster Pronouncements.
1. Poor pit vipers. My last post on the Western diamondback rattler revealed that, herpetologically speaking, many of us have something of a gaping void where our common sense and interspecies empathy ought to be. Although I am no snakespert, it is generally acknowledged that a snake’s deepest desire to get the fuck away from humans; given the opportunity to exit your midst, any sane snake will take it. Only when a specimen, such as the diamondback on my porch, is cornered does it resort to self-defense. And even then, there seems to be some reluctance to part with the venom. My rattlesnake rattled like mad, but it never even tried to strike, even though I was but a few feet away and prodding it with a broom.
You can just beetle off, have a marg, and the snake’ll be gone when you get back.
Because of the dread “related videos” feature on YouTube, I found myself watching a portion of a vid wherein some drunk chick named Diane goes around interviewing male snake-hatin’ sickfucks at a “rattlesnake roundup.”
A rattlesnake roundup, in case you have never heard of this sickfuck shit, is a ritual gathering where a bunch of bloodthirsty barbarians catch a bunch of snakes, throw’em into pits, and invite the paying public to enjoy animal cruelty, American-style. The roundup-goers gleefully observe the slaughter and thereafter purchase rattlesnakeskin underwear, rattlesnake meat burritos, rattlesnake fang funnel cake, and rattlesnakeskin assault weapon holsters. Bring the kids! In the aforementioned video one of the macho snake assassins tells Diane, “God has blessed me with a talent.” For rousting innocent rattlesnakes out of their natural habitat, chucking them into death camps, and making F-150 seat covers out of them, apparently.
2. The endless capacity for self-delusion (e.g. slaughtering sentient beings for entertainment is a God-given talent, above) with which patriarchy has imbued the American dude is striking, as in this comment I found in the blog’s moderation queue. I laugh and laugh.
“Men have always been known for their chivalry,” asserts the commenter (affiliated, apparently, with this nutty website).
Well, men have always told everybody about their chivalry, at least.
“If [men] are treated well by women,” the comment continues, “they get treated better in return. If women want to be taken good care of by their men, they need to respect and treat their men with dignity.”
In other words, kiss my ass, bitch, or I’ll make your life a living hell.
The internet fucking cracks me up. Why the fuck would anybody bother to leave these idiotic remarks on a radical heartwarming funky savage death blog?
3. On NPR yesterday I heard some blowhard Pentagon dude allude, I kid you not, to a “thirty-thousand pound penetrator.” His tone was reverent. He appeared to be unaware that his phrasery stood alone at the apex of ridiculousness.
“Penetrator” is apparently what bombs are called down in the old War Room, which Room has always been, as you know, Penetrator Central. The USA, led by handsome, saintly Barack Obama, is, in its benevolence, contemplating penetrating Iran with a bunch of these thirty-thousand pound penetrators. Supposedly all this penetration will prevent Iranian scientists from figuring out how to make atomic penetrators of their own with which to penetrate us.
You know how politicos revere history, pretending that they study it so “we” can avoid the mistakes of the past and glide bloodlessly into a glorious future of peace among the snakes and the women? Bullshit. Men study history so they can avoid the mistakes of the losers and the defeated and the surrendered prison bitches of yore; they only do it so they can figure out how to be King of the Penetrators themselves.